The Box of Drabbles
by The Rev. Cardboard Box
Summary: Like everyone else, I have herds of plot bunnies roaming about. And in order to make a little pin money, I now operate tours for rubes to behold the beasts. Oblivion, My Little Pony, Harry Potter, Fallout and other victims.
1. Please be seated

**The Box of Drabbles: Unpursued Tales**

Ahh, _there_ you are. So nice of you to come. Keep your appendages inside the carriage at all times, please, these things can be vicious, or overly passionate – I say! Madam! Resume your seat at once!

What are they? Drabbles and plot bunnies, good sir, story ideas that seemed like a good idea at the time and threatened to swell hideously, or take me into fictional worlds long vacated, or never played.

Now, this menagerie of wretched implausibilities is not just here for show. After all, you might be taken with a particular concept... or maybe it becomes taken with _you..._ and you feel driven to take it home and stroke its hair and name it George and all that. By all means if you do, for these things eat like legions of pacmen.

As for me? I have a job of work already, what with the antics of Ra'jirra's adoptive son, the earlier business with him and Dr Haines, and for that matter getting the Mane Six out of the Mojave.

So shall we begin? Yes? Back there?

Ah. Straight out of the car, third door on the left. I'm sorry about the delay everyone, but once he's back, we'll begin.


	2. Wizards From Outer Space

_Of the Harry Potter books, I have only read up to book four, _Goblet of Fire._ After that, I rather lost interest in the series, especially as the books became fatter and slower, and it became clearer that Rowling's universe is held together with duct tape and deus ex machinas. Oh, and Harry Potter, our dear little Galahad, is as passive and thick as a tree._

_The unfinished and abandoned crossover _Culture Shock_ was a promising exploration of help from outer space, especially in its treatment of magic as manipulation of both hyperspace layers. Alas, it will never continue, I believe._

_This drabble is based on the supposition that while space cannot be conquered using muggle methods, it _can_ if you use magical ones. Also it borrows from Alan Dean Foster's _Design For Great-Day_ no small amount..._

* * *

Physics tells us, in no uncertain terms, that many things are impossible, such as artificial gravity and faster than light anything. Magic tells physics, in no uncertain terms, where it can shove its impossibilities.

The probe currently in high orbit above Earth had pretty much demonstrated that to anyone who knew where to look and what for; in other words, nobody in the Sol system. On the other hand, its operators, aboard an industrial raft on an ocean world about twenty-seven light years away, were delighted at its performance.

"That," declared Group Leader Tharrap li Hazramond FHH, "was a textbook Zero Contact insertion." He lifted his face from his display; the cessation of total awareness of the probe's every function was a welcome relief.

The rest of the Contact group were still under the influence of their displays, the tripartite Qu!dr'tian rune plates obscuring their faces, transferring telemetry directly into their brains. Outside the module they were assigned for this job, a flock of spotted skywings fled from sky to sea, pursued by darkening clouds. The raft was too large for the vibration to be felt, but Tharrap was sure that he could feel the raft turning either itself or its wind wards about to fend off the coming storm.

Despite the ocean's bounty of biological, chemical and magical resources, unprotected by any native sapients, Thrass was no place for the complacent. With no landmasses to block and absorb their energies, storm winds on this planet could reach supersonic speeds – more than enough to blow a raft's superstructure apart.

Tharrap went to the potions vendor – Them Upstairs couldn't spring for even an office mess, could they? – and chose a destresser. Following a UAV into and then out of Drive tended to be disorientating at best and heart-stopping at worst. The last thing he needed was to angst over why Contact had selected a module _four vulnerable stories_ above the waterline on a world where standing tall could get you literally blown away...

"Ma'lik Ta'aa!" The curse was vehement as well as incredulous.

All thoughts of murderous meteorology banished, Tharrap looked in surprise at his Communication Leader. Galissty was leaning well back, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes scrunched up as if in pain, overlarge ears actually twitching. Not a good sign in someone as magically powerful as an Alph.

"What is it? Need a headache dose?"

Galissty shook his head. "Too many damn languages! And I'm getting drowned in EM audio – both amplitude and frequency modulated – and then there's at least two different video formats as well – and then there's the thaumatic modulated signals – and that's just the analogue formats!"

"That's what your juniors are for," Tharrap responded, neck spines flexing with amusement. "Farm translations off to them by geographical region or something."

The Alph just glared at him. "Truly the mighty Tharrap li Hazramond is a wise and great wizard," he sing-songed sarcastically, "but to be frank I've got a bad feeling about this one. There's thousands if not millions of EM transmissions and only about a hundred thaumatic – tops."

Biological Leader jerked her head out of her display and glowered at Alph and Pirrx equally. "When you've finished your little confab," she snapped, "I need video of the sapients, thank you very much."

"Fine, fine," Galissty grumbled, leaning nose-first into his display, "I'll just send you all the pretty pictures, and Translation & Culture can play word games, and what will Engineering and Navigation do? Sit on their..." his speech slurred and halted as he became meshed in the display, setting up pipes to feed that side of Contact focussed on comprehending what they, and soon the rest of the Association, were looking at.

After all, you can't go from Zero to First without adequate grounding.

* * *

_They find out about Harry, of course. That _was_ quite the outburst of magic. I see them bringing their UAV along about 1975 or so, spending the next five Earth years trying to figure out all our cultures' idiosyncracies, learning about the magical war – and then Harry make boom._

_Remus is contacted by the aliens as well – perhaps he stumbles upon them when they decide to 'abduct' Harry. He becomes their primary agent, aided and abetted by their superior technomancy and spells unknown to human ken. More importantly, he becomes Harry's sole human caregiver in Association space._

_Contact, and by extension the Association, find themselves confronted with a situation which could see the extinction of a vital subset of the human race. Unfortunately, they have to deal with two radically different worlds, and more importantly, the well-meaning obstruction of Albus Dumbledore..._

_The story would probably require multiple 'books': Zero Contact would set much of the scene; First Contact would be about Harry's first years in the Earth wizarding world; Second Contact would put the kibosh on Voldemort's return; the series finally ending in Third Contact, when the aliens finally reveal themselves to Earth – as if they had a choice._

_In other words, just another concept too huge to handle._

_And besides, the past really _is_ a foreign country. No cellphones, no internet, why, not even Atari consoles or colour TV!_


	3. Prince Silver Cloud and the

**Prince Silver Cloud and...**

**A series of My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic & Harry Potter crossover fanfics**

_My esteemed readers, how are you? I am in fine fettle and unsound mind. When it comes to drabble, here is a real... _stinker.

_This story started out as a response to an interesting transformation fic I was reading, my so-called mind taking me in directions the scope of which terrify me._

_The overview is this: Harry, our dear little Galahad, is brought to Equestria and brought up as an alicorn. He is then sent to Ponyville to unlearn certain habits picked up from the courtiers, while hijinks ensue back on Earth until about, oh, 1990 or so. Thus endeth **Prince Silver Cloud and the Prophecy Betrayed. **Later, we learn how he helps Sweetie Belle, Applebloom and Scootaloo reach their goal and cope with the consequences in **Prince Silver Cloud and the Crusade Won. **It isn't until about his tenth birthday that he finally learns about the Prophecy Betrayed and meets his first human – Snape, I think – and all sorts of culture shock ensues in **Prince Silver Cloud and the Philosopher's Stone. **After all that, is becomes clear that all is not well on Earth, and patience is slowly lost as Dumbledore keeps getting in the way of necessary events in **Prince Silver Cloud and the Broken Soul.**_

_But you're not here for such sky-pie babbling, are you? Read on:_

* * *

"I've a question for you, little sister," Princess Celestia, Keeper of the Sun and Ruler of All Equestria, asked Princess Luna, Keeper of the Moon and Co-Ruler of All Equestria. "Why?"

The midnight-hued alicorn mare just stared back, then began to speak.

"_THE FATE OF A RACE HAS BEEN BETRAYED."_

It was not her normal speaking voice, nor the Traditional Royal Canterlot Address. Not even the cold tones of Nightmare Moon. This was something ancient, asexual and definitely alien.

"_MARKED BY HIS ENEMY, THE SAVIOUR HAS BEEN BETRAYED."_

Those in the chamber watched in astonishment as the Celestia stepped back, wings flaring with shock. Luna didn't seem to notice as the _very_ wrong voice emerged from her mouth.

"_YOUR POWER THE ENEMY KNOWS NOT. SAVE OUR RACE, PROTECTORS OF YOUR OWN. RAISE OUR SAVIOUR AS YOUR OWN, FOR THE FATE OF BILLIONS IS IN THE BALANCE."_

Silence fell. Luna blinked. "What?"

Celestia shook her wings, forcing them down as she regained control of herself. Taking a deep breath, she informed Luna of what _something_ had said through her mouth.

"I think I'm going to scream," Luna remarked in a matter-of-fact tone at odds with her wild eyes, "You know why Celly."

Celestia did; for about a thousand years Luna had not been in her right mind, consumed by envy and resentment that had embodied itself as Nightmare Moon. That she had been taken over by another force _again_ was clearly unbearable to her little sister Loo. As such, she ignored the use of their private nicknames and walked over to the trembling alicorn, draping one wing across her back.

"Well really!"

The two alicorns blinked at each other, then started giggling at the absurdity. Matron Cradle Lullaby had only been summoned into their presence barely two hours before, but the fact she was upbraiding royalty slipped her attention, which was focussed on ensuring the queer little foal – no pony, but still clearly a foal – hadn't been woken by the unexpected prophecy.

"You might have woken the poor mite – a colt, if that's the same as here, by the way – and he's been left out in the cold and all! What sort of pony leaves a poor wee foal out in the cold with nothing but a blanket and basket – and a _burnt_ blanket at that?"

The two sobered. The items in question were on a table. Both blanket and basket had been placed on a table while the foal was transferred to a much warmer and better kept crib. The answer to the matron's question appeared to be in the symbols adorning a piece of parchment that had been affixed to the blanket.

Wordlessly, Celestia levitated the parchment and squinted at the cipher.

"We'll find out."

* * *

"We've only two hours to sunrise," Luna observed, stopping to poke her head out of a window to check on the moon. Fortunately it wasn't misbehaving, and hadn't rotated any about its axis either. She still had daymares sometimes about her time as Nightmare Moon and the defence on the satellite's far side. It was a very good defence, but it couldn't tell the difference between a threat to Equestria and Equestria itself.

"The prophecy said to raise him as our own," Celestia frowned. "But he simply wouldn't fit into Equestrian society; too many ponies would see him as a sideshow freak or a monster."

"But we can't simply lock him away!" Luna was horrified. After a thousand years of demented exile, the notion of doing much the same thing to a _foal_ was unthinkable to her.

"I agree," Celestia responded, scowling at the letter – the arrangement of symbols indicated such; there was an address at the top, a signature at the bottom. "And if he has to return to wherever he came from..."

The two fell silent as they closed on the Royal Library.

"Are you seriously considering..." Luna trailed off nervously, tail twitching in agitation.

"We may have to."

"Transformation? On a _foal?_ Celly, you know what that means!"

"I do." The Princess of Day looked grim. "But let's check all our options first."

* * *

Harry's last day as a human was mostly spent in a magical sleep, the better for the princesses to research and the medical ponies to study him with.

"It can be done," Caduceus declared in a distinctly tense voice. The unicorn was famed for his skills in medical magic, which was why Celestia and Luna had picked him to head the team. At the same time, they knew why he was unhappy.

"You have concerns, good Caduceus?" Celestia asked.

"Ah – yes I do, Your Highness! We have as a subject a mammalian being, clearly adapted for bipedal motion, with the forelimbs relegated to manipulators. If he were grown, it would be interesting to see the dexterity said limbs possess. The digestive system is omnivorous, and apparently is in the process of weaning. His eyes and ears are functional, and I wouldn't be surprised if he was already learning to talk and recognise his parents. Left to his own devices, I'd say this foal could probably be on the way to walking within a year.

"And that's my concern – this foal is currently in the process of growing out of the newborn stage. A transformation as proposed would likely affect his development profoundly. More to the point... it would be irreversible. What happens when he decides he wants to return to his own species?" The unicorn's voice rose with his stress. "What the hay happens if he meets his parents again?"

"His parents were murdered," Luna replied quietly, "It says so in the letter."

The letter had been most interesting. Addressed to one Petunia Dursley (whatever a dursley was), the writer, one _very _titled Albus Wulfric Brian Percival Dumbledore (whatever any of those words meant), had explained that the foal – apparently called Harry Potter (whatever that meant!) – had been the only survivor of an attack, and that this Petunia was expected to take Harry in until his seventeenth year. If she did so, the house would be warded somehow.

"Ah." The doctor's expression and mane toss betrayed his lack of satisfaction. "But what about –"

"There will be plenty of time to prepare to leap that hurdle," Celestia declared firmly. "We have decided on our course, and it is our request that you assist us."

Caduceus stiffened instinctively. A royal request was as good as a direct order. "As Your Highness commands," he said at last, bowing.

* * *

The transformation went well, clocking in at about nine and a half hours of nonstop surgical and spell work.

The two main concerns were the digestive system and the skeleton. Not just the bones, but the ligaments and tendons needed to be reconfigured to cope with the stresses of quadrupedal posture and motion. The hands were the worst. Watching the phalanges fuse together into a relatively inflexible forehoof made the doctor's heart ache a bit. He hoped the princesses could leap that hurdle...

A stomach is basically an organic bag filled with hydrochloric acid. Transforming it from just one relatively simple organ to the more complex ruminant system took a good three hours alone. Everyone was sweating by the end of _that_ stage of the operation.

Most of the organs, Caduceus was pleased to note, were affixed to the spine and hung in place. Presumably the creature's distant ancestors were quadrupeds. Maybe similar to Equestrians? He didn't know.

"He's mighty magical," one of the nurses commented, "What's the odds he'll be a unicorn?"

"No bets on that," Caduceus declared, "And his mane'll be black too. And green eyes. His coat... He'll be a dapple if you ask me!"

"Five bits says he'll be gray," came an immediate counter.

"Green – it'll match his eyes," said another nurse.

"Blue."

"Pink."

"_Pink?_"

"Yeah." Giggles began to spread. "With purple polka dots!"

The banter relieved a great deal of tension as the transformation shifted from the complex to the relatively simple – enlarging the heart and lungs, generating the frogs in the hooves, stimulating the horn to start growing, clearing up –

"That scar's still there," the doctor scowled behind his mask at the stubborn zigzag of discoloured flesh that simply _refused_ to go away. Flexing his magic, he pressed it against the tissues – then jumped away from the operating table with a shocked whinny.

"Sweet Princesses of the Sun and Moon preserve us!" All work stopped as everypony stared at the sight of a Caduceus who was backed against the wall, stiff as a board, actually _frightened._

It took about ten seconds before the doctor spoke again. "Hey! Keep him respirated! We're not closing up yet! Let's... leave the scar for now, we can worry about it once the... this is finished."

The last step was stimulating Harry's new hide to grow. Celestia only knew how much more work would've been needed if Harry didn't have the beginnings of hair follicles on most of his body. "No more bets please," Caduceus commented as the spell took effect.

The OR lights made it plain that Harry's coat wasn't pure gray, nor blue, but a peculiar silvery shade, like a cloudy day.

"Silver," Caduceus declared firmly, "Now we close up and wait for his horn to present."

There was some grumbling and back-and-forth about whether or not gray was 'close enough', but all concentration was focussed instead on cleaning up and making sure that...

"Who's casting?"

Near Harry's shoulder, a protrusion was growing with unnatural speed. From inside his body, the sounds of bone and tendon shifting could be heard. It was like cacophony to medical ears.

"I _said,_ who's bucking _casting?_"

"Nopony's casting sir!"

The doctor glared around, but sure enough nopony's horn was glowing. This was coming from the patient – but _how?_

"Roll him on his belly!"

Still asleep, the unconscious foal was rotated. Sure enough, the opposite shoulder was sprouting its own protrusion. Another teeth-grating warping of tissues, and it bent in two. In a very familiar fashion.

"Is everyone seeing this?" Caduceus whispered. He had to. The only other voice he had was a scream.

The follicles on the new limbs were noticeably larger, and what was emerging wasn't hair, but down.

Harry slept, unaware yet of his new body, and certainly not aware of the shocked and disbelieving audience watching as his magic turned him into an alicorn.


	4. Daedra From Outer Space

**Daedra from Outer Space**

_This plotbunny is the unholy lovechild of Aensland's Tailed Dremora mod for Oblivion and The Atomic Rocket site. The general idea was: Dremora from space land in Cyrodiil and end up helping repel Mehdagon, rebuild Kvatch, rediscover magic and other hijinks._

_And, of course, there's the question of what do we do with a spaceship full of daedra?_

* * *

Krazzt reinflated the door behind him and surveyed what was nominally the cafeteria.

Currently it was almost obliterated from view by crewmembers, all of whom were watching him expectantly. On a ship the size of _Aen Home-Seeker_ gossip often spread faster than the captain could grab the mike.

As a result, the captain now gazed on a mass of daedric faces, eyes, tails and shipsuits. At least someone had thought to stow the furniture against the walls. Still, the fact several crew members were hanging off the ceiling made it hard to see.

_Right,_ Krazzt thought, and cleared his throat. As if he needed to.

"My Kyn," and the faint stir of whispers faded, "I hereby announce officially what you lot no doubt know already –"

An embarrassed giggle scuttled its way through the crowd. Thirty years had made the gossip train incredibly efficient.

"– but I'm going to tell you anyway. Navigation has confirmed no less than five of the constellations marked in the Scrolls of Bitter Flight – excuse me, wait until I'm finished before paying bets!"

The disputing sounds behind the foremost crew ceased. Probably betting booze chits or crap details. Nothing wrong with that; a little gambling was OK as long as it didn't get out of hand. More importantly, that still Petty Officer Vazey had knocked up also provided surgical-grade alcohol and distilled water - useful stuff - assuming these gavakos didn't drink it first. Anyway...

"That's right, five as of now. We're entering the system of a single star, and we've observed a planet with two moons right in the life ring. Which is why we've been braking for the last five years.

"As such, I have pleasure in _officially_ confirming that we are approaching what should be our homeworld. Let Molabal, Mehdagon and Malcath tremble, for we return!"

Actually, Krazzt trembled before the compressed sound of what must have been four dozen Aenslandied cheering. The cheer was eclipsed by an increasing chorus of one of the oldest hymns, one of defiance against the Betrayers Three. Unthinking, Krazzt joined in. Several of the crew had their commos piping back to their teammates. The _Aen Home-Seeker_ rang with a song first coined in the First Era.

It took time before Krazzt could finally say, "That is all. Dismissed."

It took time - two full years in the Tamrielic calendar - for the ship to reduce its speed enough to get caught in Nirn's gravity well; to enter a stable orbit; to even be ready to consider aiming telescopes at the continents below. While Navigation and Engineering amused themselves with the ship, other teams hauled the STOVes out of mothballs, gave certain cargo a poke and prod, and started the ol' bone-drill in order to be ready when the time came to hit the dirt.

Not that anyone in that race of 'failed' daedric experiments, marooned on a low-magic planet, knew they'd developed spaceflight in time to experience the very last years of the Fourth Era.

Then again, who would have?


	5. Vault 9 and Three Quarters

_Well, this is quite entertaining, eh what? Now, this particular one here is more of a scene-setting prologue piece, more a statement of an idea rather than a story. Someone once said that Harry Potter was the "little black dress" of fanfic because it dovetails so well with everything._

_Anyway, here's a milieu someone might like to consider..._

* * *

**Vault 9¾**

Onceit had been known as Dufftown, Whisky Capital of the World. Now it was rubble. South of it had been Pole Forest. Now it was barren. Those trees that hadn't been harvested for the war effort had been felled by nuclear fire, or the black rain that had followed.

South of the town, beneath what had been a distillery, the hideous screeching of tons of metal sliding against tons of metal echoed in a skeleton-filled antechamber. The giant cog-shaped door slid out of its frame before rolling with great clashing sounds to one side.

"They'll be on us in no time!" The voice was pained, but the echoes made it difficult to determine the speaker's gender. "Get through the door! Quick!"

Now life entered the chamber, scattering bones, ancient signs of desperate entreaty, and old cans: three children, ranging in age from eleven to fifteen, all wearing blue jumpsuits with yellow trim. Vault-Tec standard for Vault 415.

The man who staggered through after them was a contrast. His garments were robes, apparently homespun, dirty, and now holed. He raised a small stick back the way he came, muttering words that caused flashes of red to reply to the sounds of shouts and gunshots inside.

One of the children screamed as a bullet smashed a skeleton by her feet. The eldest cottoned on quickly, grabbing the others and pulling them to one side. The man in the robes also half-fell aside, grappling with a rusted control panel and setting the great door in motion.

"Sir! They've escaped!" could be heard over the cacophony of the warning siren and crashing of the door.

"Not if I can help it," another voice, this one angry, "I'll speak with the Overseer and..."

A scream of sliding metal cut him off.

The robed man leaned against the panel, breathing hard for a bit, before straightening up and looking himself over. He then aimed his stick at his midsection and muttered something like "episkey", bathing the area in light before he turned to check the new-found wizards.

"You're not injured? Any of you?" Three young faces, blank with shock, stared back.

"Well then," the man declared, pulling a piece of rope out of a pocket, "We need to get you to safety. Um..." He scratched the back of his head and looked embarrassed. "I really should have done this before, but with all those guards shooting first and asking questions later, I, ah, forgot. Anyway, everyone grab hold of this and off we go!"

Naturally the children just gaped at him. One was beginning to shake, and the eldest was looking mutinous.

"You can't go back, they'll probably kill you," he added, a little curtly, "and you can't stay here, and I'm not leaving you here either. Hold onto the rope," he extended his hand, the unremarkable looking rope dangling from it, "and I'll make sure you get to safety."

"Where?" the eldest was definitely going to be a problem.

"I'll tell you if you take hold of the rope," the man said, starting to sound impatient. "Deal?"

The three children looked at each other, then the eldest stepped forward and grasped the other end. The other two stretched their arms to gingerly hold it as well while staying as far away from the strange man, who had turned their lives upside down, as they could.

"We're going to _Hogwarts,_" the man said before they all vanished, leaving nothing for the Vault guards, when they finally emerged in full hazard suits and assault weaponry, to trace.

* * *

_As the Muggles entered the first years of what was then known as the Resource Wars, they quickly became aware of our lands – lands not charted on their maps, and which they could not enter, but that _could_ be plotted by noting where investigators ceased to progress – namely, the boundaries of the wards. Desperate to maintain the Statutes of Secrecy, the Ministries of the various wizarding countries began to resort to sometimes extreme measures. Thus the Secrecy Wars began, and frankly, served to poison Muggles against us, when we should have realised the jig was up._

– Mungavin Dobbsley, _The End of the World and How it Happened_

* * *

Andrew Harris had by now spent seven years at Hogwarts Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry, being taught as much as they still knew about the arts of magic. Seven years since he, Lynda and Carl had been chased out of the Vault they once called home, chivvied along by a man who had done things that were scientifically impossible. Things he could do now.

He still had trouble comprehending that some kink in his DNA allowed him to flaunt reality with impunity, fly on a broomstick, and create useful potions from ingredients that common sense told him shouldn't even exist let alone be safe to consume. In that respect the younger children had it slightly better, but wizards these days weren't able to be picky if they wanted to survive as a race.

His acromantula silk robes whispered about him as he climbed the spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. The stairs had once moved, but the devastating energies of the war had wrecked whatever spells animated them. Nobody had ever managed to make them work since.

"Come in," Severus Potter responded to Andrew's knock.

The old wizard, beard quite short by pre-war standards, was sitting at his desk looking out the window. Once stately lawns and ornamental garden beds were long gone, replaced by orderly rows of food and potion crops. While serviceable, Severus couldn't help but think that some less utilitarian plantings would look nice and increase morale.

"Headmaster," Andrew nodded to the wizard.

"Master Harris," and Severus nodded to a chair, "I think you'll want to sit down."

Andrew took a seat and frowned. If the Headmaster was urging him to sit, it was probably bad news.

"You see this?" A finger indicated the inexplicable device on his desk. It seemed to be a set of disparate parts that glowed slightly.

Andrew did. "Yes sir?"

Severus smiled faintly. "I take it you've heard of the legend of Vault 9¾?"

"Um... yes... sir?"

"Such a place exists."

Andrew just stared at the wizard and seriously considered whether or not the Headmaster had gone mad. His history teachers had all asserted that if there _had_ been such a magical sanctuary, named in the same way as the Muggle Vaults, it was probably buried under rubble, or otherwise lost forever, and certainly wouldn't live up to the wild tales spread about it.

"I'm sure you've seen the great doors to the dungeons," Severus was speaking and Andrew blinked himself into attention, "But being as they're now permanently open, you wouldn't have seen the number 21½ on their forward faces. Yes, young man, we created our own Vaults, just like we had our own government, our own railway line between here and London.

"This device is a beacon, and it is a beacon for," the old wizard's fingers rotated the device to show the legend _Vault 9¾ _on the base, "well, you can see for yourself. We took it to the southern boundary of our lands here, and saw its light brighten. Since London in general, and Diagon Alley in particular, is south..."

"It gets brighter as we approach!" Andrew was pleased at the Headmaster's nod.

"Exactly. Vault 9¾ was to be a storehouse of wizarding knowledge, and more importantly, of magical life. As long as this device glows, the Vault awaits.

"I believe you would be an ideal candidate to join the quest for it."

* * *

_Well, I think we all know where this goes. About 2277, a ragtag bunch of young wizards follows what's left of the rails of the Hogwarts line down the length of Great Britain into King's Cross, seeking the treasures of Vault 9¾. Along the way they discover the remains of several magical communities, mutants, homicidal scavengers, equally genocidal Muggle communities, and just how well the Goblins have fared._

_In this version of the universe, the Resource Wars exposed the wizarding world for obvious reasons, and the wizards' response to this was... how shall we say this... disastrous. While some Muggles and wizards have made their peace, most others haven't. Add to that the machinations of Vault-Tec, the descendants of Chinese fifth columnists, and the British ruling class, and the scene is set for possibly changing the world for the better._

_Possibly._

_Obviously we're talking about mostly the Fallout world, but this is an area most fanfiction writers don't consider: What else happened _elsewhere?_ The world's bigger than two ends of the USA after all._


End file.
